


He Gives Great Head

by AlreadyPainfullyGone



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Body Swap, Crack, First Time, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, PWP, ish?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 15:42:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2586908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlreadyPainfullyGone/pseuds/AlreadyPainfullyGone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is...I suppose kind of a body swap? But not really? Stiles and Derek wake up in an unusual situation caused by messing with an unnamed object. What follows is porn, and head puns. Spoiler - based on one line in this season of AHS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Gives Great Head

**Author's Note:**

> I am still working on updates for my other fics, but Mimm and I spent the evening co-writing this crack, after I had an American Horror Story related idea that would not go away.

“Derek? Wake up.”

Derek squeezes his eyes closed against the dim sunlight. It’s too early to be awake, and he didn’t lay down to sleep until gone midnight anyway, thanks to the latest outbreak of madness in Beacon Hills.

“Dereeeeeeek.”

He tries to put his hands over his face to block out the light and the irritatingly familiar voice that are trying to drag him towards wakefulness. But only one hand makes it to his face. Ugh. He needs to move. He needs to move to a town where there are no teenagers, especially no teenage werewolves, especially especially no teenage werewolves that attract trouble like bug zappers attract moths, and that have his number on speed dial.

“Derek, get your head out of your ass and wake UP!”

Derek opens his eyes and turns slightly, just enough that he can see Stiles’ face on the pillow next to him, glaring and also looking quite scared, which he should be. In what world was it OK to wake him up this early, after a night of fighting off two warlocks and burning their establishment to the ground, along with all the magical artefacts inside? He squeezes his eyes closed again.

That’s not even the first question. The first question is...

“How the hell did you get into my apartment?”

Closely followed by,

“Why are you in my bed?”

Stiles sighs, and Derek smells curly fries on his breath.  “If you’re this mad now, you’re not gonna like what’s coming.”

Derek bites down on the instinct to ask automatically “What’s coming?” because he feels like the answer will be something along the lines of ‘Your Mom.’ Instead he asks, “What am I not going to like?”

There is a long, horrible silence. Derek never thought he would fear silence, but when he realises that Stiles is actually taking the time to figure out the best way to say something, instead of just blurting it out without considering if it will earn him a punch to the face, he realises that silence can in fact be the most horrifying thing out there. A silent Stiles is never a good thing.

Eventually, Stiles spoke.

“Would you just open your eyes already? I can’t really...there are no words, OK?”

Derek did. He saw Stiles, in his bed, head on his pillow, looking up at the ceiling, much closer to his face than he should ever be.

“Now look... down.”

Derek had never felt more wary in his-

“OH MY GOD WHY IS YOUR HEAD ON MY SHOULDER?”

“I FUCKING KNOW RIGHT!!!!??” Stiles yells, like he’s been holding it in for hours, “Also, that was right in my ear, and now I have tinnitus.”

“Sorry.”

“Apologise to my tinnitus.”

“Your head is on my body.” Derek says, feeling his skin prickle with the wrongness of it, because now he’s awake very, very awake, and can feel the extra weight of a second _head_ on his shoulder.

“Technically, my head, arm and possibly my leg are on your body,” Stiles cranes his head, “also maybe some torso, there’s a sheet issue.”

Derek peers down, attempting to determine which parts of his body are actually his. He can feel his right arm, his right leg, his side, his neck and half his chest. But that’s it, the rest of him might as well be paralysed. He gets a bit distracted by the incredibly distracting and very disturbing tent in his bedsheets.

“There’s also that,” Stiles says, “that is also a thing that is happening right now.” He sighs, “If my dad walks in right now this will officially be a nightmare.”

Derek gapes for a minute, reeling from the cumulative weirdness. He eventually manages to summon up the words to say, “is that you, or me?

“It’s me,” Stiles says, his face probably bright red if the heat Derek can feel radiating from beside his ear is anything to go by. “And before you make any snide remarks, I’d just like to remind you that puberty is an ugly time for us humans and...” Derek cuts him off mid-waver.

“I mean, is that... who’s is it? If the right hand everything is mine, and the left hand everything is yours...”

 “Which I’m super happy about, by the way,” Stiles interjects, staring angrily at the ceiling, “you may have noticed I’m not exactly poised and graceful when I have the _dominant_ side of my body, but now...”

“The point is...” Derek spoke over him, eager to keep conversation to a simple question-answer dynamic, “if you’ve got left everything and I’ve got right everything, whose is the stuff in the middle?”

There was a pause.

“Oh,” Stiles said. And then, “Um...oh my God, I don’t want to look.” He closes his eyes tightly. “You look.”

“Why me?”

“You’ve seen more fucked up stuff, I’m still young and innocent.”

Derek snorts.

“Just...tell me if we have a franken-dick or not.”

Derek grits his teeth.

“Or, have they joined forces into a mega-dick?”

“Stiles...”

“Oh my God, do you think the other half of my body is just lying in my bed?”

“The rest of me isn’t here,” Derek points out.

“That’s good, because I do not want my Dad seeing me cut in half, that would be...” Stiles lets the sentence trail off between them.

Derek, because he can’t take the awkward, depressed silence, lifts up the sheet and tries not to do anything unmanly, like shriek.

“That’s my ball!” Stiles yells, making Derek’s ear ring. “That is definitely my ball...so, that thing must be yours.”

“Thing?” Derek says incredulously, “that is a...I am not going to defend my ball to you.”

“Whatever....so, that dealy in the middle, that...is not my dick.”

“It’s not mine.”

“It’s the same colour as mine,” Stiles cranes his neck, “that’s definitely my mole, but I was definitely circumcised yesterday...I mean, not literally yesterday, that would have been weird, I had a math test – but...you know.”

“That part’s mine.”

“I figured.”

The weird thing about sharing his body with Stiles is that his head is so close Derek can hear him swallow, hear every breath and every parting of his lips. When Stiles coughs awkwardly it makes him jump.

“So...your hand or mine?”

“We are not doing that.”

“It’s been like this for two hours, while you were snoring right into my ear. We may be about to lose our dicks to extreme priapism, I am being mature and pragmatic.”

“No.”

“Let me jerk off!” Stiles whines.

“Let me think! This is obviously to do with the magic shop, and the sooner we fix it-”

“Fixing it will probably require putting pants on and walking around, neither of which is going to happen until we take care of that.”

“It’s not going to happen.”

“Why, because robo-Derek the megawolf doesn’t jerk off? I’ve known you a year and you do not have a girlfriend. You do not have the social skills to aquire a casual hook up – believe me, I know, so that leaves you and little Derek with the five-knuckle-shuffle, the low five the-”

“If I jerk us off will you stop talking?”

Stiles sighs. “Oh, the charm that is you, help me, my knees are weak.”

“Knee. Singular.”

“Oh I’m sorry, I’m finding it a little hard to adjust my idioms to our current predicament – there is no precedent for this you...” Stiles stops, snorts and says, “ha. ‘Little hard’.”

“I’m going to ignore you and try to figure out what the hell happened,” Derek says, shooting Stiles a glare out of the corner of his eye, before resuming staring at the ceiling. Stiles, for his part, mumbled sarcastically for a while, probably mocking Derek as much as he thought he could get away with. After a while, he lapsed into silence again, and Derek was able to think.

The warlocks. It had to be something to do with burning their artefacts, maybe they unleashed some sort of...

“You know, we’ve got no way of knowing you’ll even feel it if I did.”

“Of course I’ll feel it, you moron, we’ve got one torso, that means one nervous system.”

“How will we know, unless we do it – for science?”

“Shut up.”

“Also, I’m getting worried about that vein – it’s getting bigger – time could be of the essence here.”

“Stiles-”

“Hey, think of me here, one day someone is going to want to sleep with me, and you could be depriving me of that experience, because I will have lost my dick in a circulatory malfunction.”

Derek sighed, as long and as loud a sigh as he had ever produced.

“...we could just put a pillow over your face and pretend it’s not happening.” Stiles adds helpfully.

“Gerard Argent – naked.”

“What are you doing?” Stiles hissed.

“There are two ways of making this problem disappear, three if I just rip your head off my shoulder.”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

“Option two it is – rotting meat, maggots, Kanima slime, Jackson-”

“I am seventeen Derek,” Stiles said over his continuing litany of disgusting images, “there is literally nothing I cannot and will not jerk it to.”

“Foetal pigs, the Sheriff in a thong, Scott and Peter – doing it.”

“I could get down to some Sceter.”

“...I am going to kill you.”

“The bad boy thing – you really think that’s going to swing things your way?”

“Ignoring a boner isn’t going to kill you.”

“First off, HA! You said ‘boner’ and secondly – It hasn’t been scientifically proven that it won’t kill me, and thirdly – pissing you off is pretty much the only good thing about this entire situation, so, why would I give that up?”

Derek growled in frustration.

“Seriously, you are not helping this situation, like, at all, with that. And BTdubs, half of this thing is you -  if it was just me, percentage-wise we’d be talking half-mast, max.”

“I can’t believe we are lying here, two heads on one body, as a result of god only knows what kind of arcane curse, and we are arguing about who owns which half of this boner,” Derek snapped, suppressing the urge to just dig his claws into Stiles’ thigh and have done with it, “actually, no, you know what, I can fully believe that is what we’re doing, because of all the idiots in this town I have had to put up with, I have to get stuck with, or sorry, to, you.”

Stiles’ eyes widened as he strained his neck to look at Derek’s face, clearly wanting, but not able to back away. He raised his arm so his finger was level with his chin and pointed at Derek.

“Woah. Someone is far too tes...”

“If your next word is ‘testy’, I will actually puncture an artery. I will risk bleeding out, just to end this.”

Stiles made an inarticulate ‘the fuck you will’ noise and jerked his hand away, letting it drop onto his stomach, where its fingers wriggled, and, as if they had a devious mind of their own, started to drift lower.

“Do you think I can’t see you?” Derek demanded, bringing his own hand up and grabbing Stiles’ wrist.

“Derek,” Stiles turns his head to one side, so they’re nose to nose – literally. He wets his top lip, “Derek, come on.”

Derek tries to keep up his stern gaze, but there’s something about the pleading tone in Stiles’ voice that makes his blood heat up, and the ache deep in his gut, the one he’s been trying to ignore for the past half hour intensifies, almost to the level of physical pain.

He doesn’t even realise his fingers have loosened, it’s only when Stiles hisses and throws his head back against the pillow, when a lance of relief and pleasure shoots through his own nerve endings, that he knows Stiles has managed to get a hand around their dick.

“Oh, my God, finally,” Stiles groans, and Derek can’t feel more than the pressure of Stile’s fingers as they slide back his foreskin, but it’s enough to make him close his eyes and let out a shaky breath. Stiles, in his usual irritating way, was right when he said it had been a while. It’s been a long time, and Derek has felt...frustrated. And if that frustration has quadrupled since Scott and, by extension, Stiles, entered his world, that is not something he’s going to examine.

Stiles is seventeen, he’s...

Stiles is panting, loud moans opening his mouth wide as he arches into his hand as best he can, owning only half of their body. He’s not wasting time, fist flying over their cock like someone has a gun to his head and is demanding he orgasm within the next fifteen seconds. Their heart, the one heart in their shared body, is thumping light and quick, and there’s hormones and pheromones rising from their skin like a fog, scents that Derek knows aren’t him.

“Oh fuck. Ohfuckfuckfuckfuck—fu-ck,” it sounds like he might be about to hyperventilate.

When Derek closes his hand around Stile’s quick, slick fingers, the groan he lets out is loud and edged with a desperate whine.

“Oh come on, come on, please,” Stiles tips his head sideways and looks at him, a high flush in his cheeks, lips soft and damp and parting as he tries to catch his breath. “Derek, don’t be an assho-”

 Derek catches those lips against his own, and they are at least twice as good as they looked, his mouth slack and so compliant that Derek growls low in his chest, even as Stiles moans into his mouth.

He pulls back and looks at Stiles’ unfocused eyes, the light covering of sweat on his skin.

“Derek?”

“If you’re going to ask why, the answer is, I don’t know. I just wanted to. I don’t know if you wanted me to-”

In answer, Stiles circles their dick with his hand again, starting up long, lazy pulls that have Derek half closing his eyes as pleasure drifts through him like a drug.

“Do it again,” Stiles says, almost like he’s worried he won’t. “I’m serious, do it again or I’ll start talking about Scott and Pe-”

Derek kisses him, and he can feel the long delayed orgasm coming at him like a train ready to collide with his body, he can feel the short fuzz of Stiles’ hair under his palm and the greedy, slick way he kisses, unable to keep quiet even when his hyperactive tongue is curled around Derek’s, stroking slowly, like his long fingers.

Derek’s orgasm hits him and he can’t breathe for a moment, just shudders and clings hard to the nape of Stile’s neck and lets him kiss him as he shivers and twitches, hot come dripping over Stiles’ hand and onto their belly.

Stiles’ breath catches in his throat, and Derek pulls himself away from his mouth to bury his face against Stiles’ neck, the tremors of overstimulation making his half of their body shake, even as Stiles’ locks up and he groans, deep and loud, his load landing with the kind of range Derek had last experienced in his own teenage years – all over their chest and stomach in long splashes.

For a few moments, Stiles’ hand continues to stroke them, until Derek finds himself whimpering at the slide of his come slick fingers over their cock, and Stiles lets his hand wander elsewhere, drawing his fingers through the come on their skin.

Derek takes his hand and brings it up, sucking his index finger clean.

He’s pleased to find Stiles watching him with a mixture of disbelief and lust on his face.

“You kissed me,” Stiles says, and Derek kind of wants to leap up and run from the vulnerability that’s in those words, that is always somewhere underneath Stiles’ smart mouth.

“I wanted to.”

“OK.” Stiles swallows, “do you still...”

Derek turns his head and catches Stiles’ mouth in a slow, soft kiss, bumping their noses together before he draws away, or as far away as the confines of their body will allow.

“Did you want to kiss me before this morning or...”

“Before.”

“When?”

“Somewhere around...sourwolf.”

Stiles snorts, and Derek glared at him. “Well, you asked a stupid question. I don’t know when.”

“Me either,” Stiles says quietly, “maybe...I mean, you did threaten to rip my throat out, that really gets a guy thinking romance, you know?”

“You talk too much.”

“You love it,” Stiles sing-songs, “you love me talking, and mocking you, and touching you, and kissing-”

“OH MY GOD!”

Both their heads jerk up.

“MY EYES!” Scott wails, backing up towards the door with his arm thrown across his face. “Alison, do not come in here!”

“Why?” echoes down the corridor, followed by footsteps and then –

“OH MY GOD...FINALLY!”

 

 

 


End file.
